


Casulty

by rythmicjea



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi on Tatooine, ObiTine Week 2020, Older Obi-Wan Kenobi, Satine Kryze Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28687659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rythmicjea/pseuds/rythmicjea
Summary: Obi-Wan has begun his life as a recluse on Tatooine and is rescued by a helmed figure after being attacked.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Casulty

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm late. It's 2021 and 6 months after the week but here is day four of my submission!

He leads his steed, giving it some rest from his weight as he tries to make it to his camp before nightfall shrouds him completely. Twilight holds itself steady before the planet's two suns completely set. He does not see them, when the ambush begins, the twilight giving them cover. The hit to the back of his shoulders knocks him to the ground, as the Tuskin Raiders attempt to scavenge his belongings. The Empire’s rule has allowed desperation to grow to the point that their survival is more important than their kill. 

He hears the sound before he sees the lights whizzing past their heads. Obi-Wan keeps a hand on his steed using the force to keep it calm in the chaos. As the Raiders flee, all the weary Jedi can see, at first, are the boots and swish of the cape from the other side of his mount. Across the way a speeder sits idle, the honks and cries of the raiders must have disguised the oncoming sound. He had let fatigue cloud his senses innocently believing that he would not be perceived as a threat or target. He was wrong. 

The sand crunches under the heavy boots as they come back towards him. He cowers a bit hoping that his demeanor would be a deterrent from further exploitation. Silently, his helmed savior reaches out an arm. When he does not take it immediately, a female voice asks “are you alright?” The mechanical emitter disguises the pitch, but not the distinct accent. Obi-Wan would recognize that trill anywhere.

Hesitantly, he takes her proffered hand, and appreciates the strength the woman possesses. “I am… thank you.” He turns to rustle in his belongings hoping to find something that he could use as repayment and does not notice that his rescuer has turned away from him. 

“It has been a long time since I have seen a lightsaber.” Her voice breaks his reverie. He checks his side and realizes that he is no longer in possession of his saber. “Even longer since I have seen this one.” Her voice is soft and contemplative; and, a thousand lightyears away in thought. “I was once told that a Jedi’s lightsaber was their life.” He can hear the smirk through her bucket. The jovial tone reminds him of an attitude from before the war. An atmosphere that was hard to find these days. Turning to face him, she presents the eloquent weapon to him with both hands. A sign of peace and transparency. 

Obi-Wan lightly chuckles. “This? It is just a bobble I picked up at a bazaar. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you what it does or how to use it.” The lie is easy enough but his voice is shaky with nerves. And the way he gingerly accepts it is an instant betrayal to his obfuscation. His reverence for his previous life makes him believe that no matter how long he hides he will never escape it.

She tilts her head to the side and it is obvious that she does not believe him. “Your triumphs proceed you, even if you do not view them as such.”

“Oh?” An eyebrow raises quizzically. “I am not the man you believe me to be.” While he could use his telepathy, it was not a gift he chose to employ lightly. Simplicity was always the best approach.

Stepping closer to him she studies his face, her helm’s micromovements ticking as if the cold steel had the ability to exude expression. “There may be more lines to your visage and grey in your strawberry blonde hair, but your eyes are as sharp and clear as they ever were.”

That makes him laugh. It is quiet, but true, and it feels good. “Madam, I assure you that I am a simple traveler. I do not wish to call attention to myself for I have nothing left to give.” The great negotiator, specializing in half-truths and wisdom hidden deep within his words. He may not have the strength for witty banter but he cannot escape the need to say more than what most would hear.

“You may hide behind your robes,” the smirk is back along with a healthy banter beginning to form, “and your impoverished facade… You even chose to keep-” she touches his beard with her leather bound hand, she knows the feel - thick and coarse, even if she cannot touch it directly. His hand is quick when he grabs her wrist in a tight grip. A perfume wafts by in the late desert breeze. The scent is gone before he can analyze it fully and he dare not presume to identify it for fear of breaking his heart again. She curls her fingers away, as his eyes narrow trying to see past her visor. She does not meet his gaze, even if he cannot see her eyes. The last of the sentence hangs silently heavy between them.

When she pulls away he lets her go. The lightness of her tone is gone, leaving only propriety in its stead. “To those who know, you will always be recognizable… Master General Kenobi” The arm he had grabbed fists and crosses her chest as she gives a half curtsy, half bow. Defeat reads clearly in his eyes. There is no point in fighting this further. Not when this soldier will be gone soon. He could be scared that she may turn him in, that she may alert others to his location, the bounty on his head is high. Too tempting for an immoral soul. He watches her keenly, waiting for the click of shackles, and when the sound doesn’t come he watches her turn away. Darkness is catching up quickly. The suns of Tatooine have long set and the last rays of light are fading, when she turns from him. His clear and sharp eyes notice the symbol on her shoulder plate. The paint, though flaking and faded, holds the image clearly - a calla lily. 

As she turns she holds his gaze, knowing what he has seen, his eyes betray the questions boiling over in his mind, before finally turning her back to him. After a few steps she feels his fingers in hers. “Who are…?” he cannot finish, his voice breaking harshly with emotion.  _ Who is she? Who is she to dare wear that crest? Does she know its meaning? _ He lets his mind ask every question other than the one his heart longs to voice. She turns her head to him but does not raise it at first. “I am simply a Mandalorian,” and then she raises her head to meet his. “Who knows the casualty of the Clone Wars all too intimately.” If not for the mask’s emitter he might not have heard her sad whisper. His heart beats rapidly, almost singing, as flashes of memories fill his senses. But he makes not one move toward or away from her. Instead he drops her hand and lets his pinky grasp hers in a vice grip, anchoring them to this moment.

And through her helmet they hold each other’s gaze. Him, looking at the future of a past once lost. Her, trying to escape the future she never thought would come.


End file.
